


Where ignorance is bliss ('tis folly to be wise)

by robotunicorncastiel



Category: Football RPF, German NT RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Hotels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotunicorncastiel/pseuds/robotunicorncastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the head coach of Germany's national football team, Joachim Löw has to oversee a lot of things. But there are things to which he purposefully turns a blind eye. That is, until the latter starts to interfere with the former.</p><p>This is what happens when I'm procrastinating at work and suffering from severe Schweinski withdrawal. Also, Poldi's winning goal against Anderlecht put me in a positive mood, so expect a light, cutesy read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where ignorance is bliss ('tis folly to be wise)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have never witnessed, been confided in, nor took part in these people's private lives, so this is all make-believe.

As the head coach of Germany's national football team, Joachim Löw has to oversee a lot of things. Things pertaining to his authority over the players, for instance: enforcing respect, dedication, discipline - and, under discipline, other factors such as punctuality and fitness for playing. Also things on the other side of this spectrum which refer to ensuring his players are being cared for, so that they are able to present their best possible performance at all times: watching out for their physical and mental health, making sure they always look forward to the international breaks, protecting them from the negative influence of media vultures, and so on and so forth.

 

But there are things to which he purposefully turns a blind eye. That is, until the latter starts to interfere with the former.

 

He counts the heads inside the bus for the third time, takes a mental note of the two remaining empty seats - one beside Kevin, the other next to Mario - and wonders when did this become his job.

 

"Would any of you know why Schweini and Poldi are not here?"

 

The coach's voice hushes the little conversations among the rest of the team; they exchange looks with their seat mates, some shrug, a few snicker, and nobody answers his question. Jogi wishes he were still innocent enough to assume they just don't know.

 

Of course they know. They all know - the older ones, at least. It's just one of the things they're not supposed to talk about. Which they don't, except when, you know, the bus is going to be late to the airport because  _certain people_  have gone missing.

 

He shakes his head and gets out of the bus.

 

Bracing himself against the chilly winds of mid-November Nuremberg, Jogi reaches for his phone and searches for  _Podolski, Lukas_  in his contacts. A recorded female voice apologizes and tells him that number cannot be reached, and to please try again in a few minutes.

 

He tries  _Schweinsteiger, Bastian_  instead, and gets the same message.

 

Jogi stops himself before throwing his phone at an unsuspecting baggage trolley nearby.

 

Back to the reception desk, then, he concludes gloomily. At least it's warm on the other side of the hotel doors. He strides to the first available person he spots behind the front desk. "Hello, could you make a call to room 401, please? I think someone overslept," he adds as a second thought and laughs a little, trying to inject some humor in his tone.

 

The lady on the other side immediately complies, but she holds the mouthpiece to her face for too long before saying, "Nobody seems to be picking up. Are you sure you have the right room?"

 

The coach doesn't have to check the notes in his smartphone to know that's the number to Bastian's room. However, he ponders that the hotel staff doesn't need to know he has  _two_  rogue players on the run, so he takes his chance and just tells her, "Try 403."

 

This time the receptionist frowns as she waits, her manicured finger hovering over the "redial" button. "The line's busy on that one. Sylvia, is that 403 on the line with you?" The girl to her right just shakes her head, jotting down on a piece of hotel stationery whatever the person on the other side is barking in her ear. "Sorry, it's off the hook. But guests often misplace the mouthpiece after a call, I'm sure that must have been the case."

 

Jogi suspects that was not the case at all, but he keeps it to himself. "Do you happen to have a spare key for 403?"

 

The lady shifts in her seat, looking alternately at him, at her friend Sylvia, and at the door behind which Jogi supposes is her boss.

 

He takes a deep breath and leans over the counter, trying to convey more exhasperation at his current situation than any kind of threat. He isn't one to throw credentials around lightly, but dire circumstances require dire measures.

 

"Look," he whispers conspiratorially, "I know this could get you in trouble, but our bus was supposed to leave ten minutes ago and if we don't get to the airport on time, flights will be lost and several people will be pissed. At me. Because I'm in charge of getting these guys back to their homes before their club's next matches. So if there's anything you can do to help me...?"

 

The receptionist reflects for a moment, then gets up from her chair. "I'll get the manager."

 

There is nothing else Jogi can do but to waste five more minutes as he explains it all again to the manager, yet somehow he finds himself outside room 403 with a spare key card in his hands. (Eventually he'll have to get Chris to sign a jersey for the manager's 13-year-old grandaughter, but he'll think about that later on.)

 

He hesitates before the door for one of those interminable minutes, afraid of what he may find inside. He knows, of course, that some of the players dried up the hotel's supply of beer the night before, enjoying their first relatively easy victory in the Eurocup; however, it's a well-known fact that Lukas is a teetotaler, and Bastian has been cutting down on liquor since his 30th birthday for reasons into which the coach didn't care to delve too deep. On the other hand, the pair had their own reasons to celebrate: Lukas has been steadily getting back to his peak form, scoring one and participating in two of their five goals against Gibraltar. For Bastian, this was his first actual match since becoming captain of the national team, and even if he spent most of it wrapped in a blanket and shouting from the sidelines, it was clear that his mere presence had made a difference in his team mates' mentality. The two of them disappeared early from dinner, and neither Jogi nor anyone else in the managing team bothered to ask them about it, because "Poldi and Schweini" has been one of the top items in Jogi's "don't ask" list since... well, since he inherited the list from Klinsi. In fact, it's one of the last remaining items from Klinsi's era, and now Jogi is about to  _ask about it_  - worse, he's pretty much about to  _walk right into it_. He glues his ear to the door, trying to check if they are awake. Silence. He wonders what he's going to do if he finds the room empty.

 

He doesn't have to wonder for long, since it's clear from the moment he opens the door that the room is still inhabited.

 

There is a trail of clothes scattered like breadcrumbs from the doorstep all the way to the side of the king-sized bed. Jogi follows them with his eyes, registering the two pairs of shoes, the two pairs of pants, the two long-sleeved shirts; until he reaches the figures on the bed, also in a set of two.

 

Closer to the door, there is Lukas, looking almost child-like in his undisturbed sleep. He covers about 3/4ths of the bed, lying on his belly with arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, one hand hanging off the mattress, naked as a newborn.

 

On the other side of him, occupying the remaining area of the bed, there's a human-sized chrisalys made out of comforters that could be no other but Bastian.

 

Jogi closes his eyes and sighs.  _So much for not asking_ , he thinks.

 

He tiptoes into the room and closes the door behind himself, silently collecting the articles of clothing from the floor. Once he reaches the side of the bed, he considers using one of the shirts to at least cover Lukas' buttocks - not necessarily to protect the forward's dignity, but because he already had to see enough naked men in locker rooms.

 

Instead, Jogi chooses to drop all the clothes over Lukas' head.

 

The player fights off the garments suddenly covering his face as he turns in bed, snickering and mumbling something about it being too damn early, but his laughter dies in his lips when he brushes away a shirt sleeve and stares up at his boss.

 

Jogi crosses his arms and trains his eyes at Lukas' face as the forward jolts wide awake, grabbing the pile of clothes to cover his crotch area as he sits up.

 

"Uh--"

 

"If you say 'I can explain', I swear to God I'm throwing both of you out of this room before you have a chance to get dressed," the coach cuts him off in an angry whisper. 

 

Lukas lowers his head and focuses on finding his own pieces of clothing among the mess on his lap. "I was just gonna say the alarm didn't ring," he whimpers mostly to himself.

 

Jogi feels a bit like he's just hit a lab puppy in the nose with a rolled newspaper for peeing at the wrong spot. Still, he has to enforce discipline - and he also feels like having a talk with the man on the topic of extramarital relationships -, but the more pressing matter now is the bus waiting for them in front of the hotel. "Nevermind. The bus is here, we were all just waiting for you. You have," he checks his watch, "ten minutes to show up downstairs. That or you'll have to fend off for yourselves to get to the airport, but I'd think it's best for you if you're there to defend yourselves when your colleagues start to crack jokes about..." Jogi was about to say "the happy couple", but maybe that would sound too much like homophobic-fueled sarcasm; or, depending on how their  _thing_  stood, that might strike a chord unnecessarily unfair. He concludes his sentence with a hand gesture between Lukas and the human burrito behind him, then turns to leave the room.

 

"Wait, Jogi!" He's almost at the door when Lukas calls him back. (Behind him, Bastian rolls in bed and begins to mumble "go back to sleep" before setting eyes on their boss and hissing an "oh,  _shit_ ".) "You're not going to-- what are you going to tell them?"

 

The coach puts his hands on his hips and turns into his role as the strategist of the group. "I found you two sleeping on the floor with the TV on, still wearing the clothes from yesterday. You two can come up with details between yourselves if you want, but I'm just leaving it at that." They both nod in agreement, Jogi nods back, and then he's out of the dreaded room.

 

As he waits for the elevator to arrive, Jogi checks his watch once again. They'll be forty minutes late. When he accepted the title of coach of the German national team, it wasn't mentioned anywhere in the job description that he might occasionally lose flights back home due to setbacks such as his players making up for lost time romancing each other after a match. Maybe he was better off not knowing, he tells himself, but then he thinks otherwise. This could have direct implications into the set of things he actually needs to know.

 

Their hotel room distribution could always use an update, for starters.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write stuff in the future because guessing what happened in the background of actual past events is enough speculation for me, but then the idea of Basti accompanying the rest of the team in the next international break even if he's still not fit to play was too strong a call to ignore.
> 
> Also, burrito!Basti may be my favorite Basti so far (especially when placed next to gloriously butt-naked Lukas).


End file.
